PS 

3525 

M2179t 


CALEB 
MATTHEWS 

AN -IDYL- OF -THE 
MAINE -COAST 


ROBERT  •  W.-  MCLAUGHLIN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


CALEB  MATTHEWS 

An  Idyl  of  the  Maine  Coast 


BY 

ROBERT  w.  MCLAUGHLIN 

Author  of  "  Washington  and  Lincoln  " 


THE  ABINGDON  PRESS 
NEW  YORK  CINCINNATI 


Copyright,  1913,  by 

ROBERT  \v.  MCLAUGHLIN 


First  Edition  Printed  May,  1913 
Reprinted  December,  1913;  March,  1914 
May,  1916 


P 


c 


L    THE  SETTLEMENT 

the  coast  of  Maine,  twenty 
miles  from  the  railroad,  is  an 
arrow-shaped  island  six  miles 
long  and  pointing  out  to  sea* 
At  the  tip  of  this  island  is  a 
fishing  settlement  of  less  than  a  hun 
dred  souls,  increased  during  the  sum 
mer  by  another  hundred*  It  is  a  spot 
to  grow  enthusiastic  over,  for  here 
nature  has  done  some  of  her  best 
work.  The  vast  expanse  of  ocean, 
unbroken  to  the  southward,  save  as  in 
imagination  distant  lands  are  pictured 
below  the  horizon ;  a  coast  line,  irreg 
ular  and  craggy,  its  contour  changing 
with  the  rise  and  fall  t>f  the  tides; 
islands  well  in  the  distance,  which 
come  forward  or  go  back  under  the 


IOS0049 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

mystic  illusion  of  the  atmosphere;  the 
heave  of  the  deep— washingt  pounding, 
or  dashing  against  the  rocks;  wild 
flowers  struggling  from  crevices  in  the 
ledges;  patches  of  green  bayberry 
bushes  growing  in  thin  soil,  pine 
trees,  sending  their  roots  down  to  the 
water's  edge;  and  over  all  the  ever 
lasting  wash  of  air,  in  which  is  mingled 
the  tang  of  the  sea  with  the  odor  of 
the  spruce. 

Spilled  over  this  tip  of  the  island  are 
some  tokens  of  man's  presence:  an 
old  fish  house  with  its  pile  of  decayed 
nets;  a  decrepit  dock,  beginning  on 
the  land  with  rocks  and  ending  in  the 
water  with  spindly  poles;  a  rusty  an 
chor  or  two;  here  and  there  a  clump 
of  lobster  pots,  some  gray  with  age, 
others  yellow  with  youth;  a  few  fisher 
men's  houses  scattered  about  with  the 
regularity  of  patches  in  a  crazy  quilt ; 

4 


THE    SETTLEMENT 

almost  as  many  summer  cottages  set 
primly  along  the  shore ;  a  little  school- 
house  one  story  high,  with  a  bell  above 
the  ridge  pole;  a  mass  of  building, 
which  is  a  cross  between  a  boarding 
house  and  hotel,  with  a  big  addition 
at  the  rear  a  story  higher  than  the 
original  part  at  the  front,  and  suggest 
ing  a  cat  with  its  back  up ;  and,  finally, 
a  story-and-a-half  frame  building, 
some  of  which  is  thinly  painted  white, 
with  a  door  rigidly  set  in  the  center 
at  the  front,  from  which  protrudes  a 
platform* 

Within  this  building,  and  on  the  left 
as  you  enter,  is  a  counter  with  a  pair 
of  scales,  a  cheese  under  cover,  and  a 
show  case  with  several  familiar  brands 
of  tobacco  in  one  end  and  in  the  other 
end  half  a  dozen  cardboard  boxes  con 
taining  penny  candy*  Behind  the  coun 
ter  on  the  shelves  is  a  rather  restricted 
5 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

assortment  of  groceries,  a  few  knick- 
knacks,  and  fewer  still  household  rem 
edies,  including  the  soothing  syrup  with 
its  motherly  name,  and  the  gentle 
laxative  for  which  the  babies  cry, 

On  the  right  of  the  door,  and  in  the 
corner,  is  an  inclosure,  formed  on  two 
sides  by  the  walls  of  the  building,  on 
the  third  by  a  partition  with  an  opening, 
and  in  front  by  wood  which  reaches 
half  way  up,  the  other  half  being  of 
glass*  In  the  wood  just  below  the 
glass  is  the  familiar  slit,  as  large 
again  as  a  good-sized  human  mouth, 
into  which  the  citizens  of  the  settle 
ment  feed  their  letters*  Above  this 
slit  is  a  miniature  window,  with  a 
wooden  slide,  usually  down,  but  pushed 
up  for  a  time  when  the  agent  of 
Uncle  Sam  arrives  with  the  mail  bag* 
Through  this  window,  immediately 
following  the  drop  of  the  slide,  the 


THE    SETTLEMENT 

representative  of  the  government  peers 
for  about  fifteen  minutes  each  day  in 
the  summer,  and  for  the  same  length 
of  time  once  a  week  during  the  re 
mainder  of  the  year* 

At  the  back  of  this  inclosure,  and 
occupying  a  little  more  space,  are  a 
few  barrels,  a  couple  of  kegs,  and  half 
a  dozen  cracker  boxes.  It  will  be 
readily  understood  that  this  space 
is  not  reserved  primarily  for  these 
boxes,  kegs,  and  barrels ;  rather,  these 
are  placed  in  this  space,  that  on  them 
the  fishermen  may  find  support  while 
fault  is  found  with  the  weather,  the 
shortage  of  lobsters  explained,  and 
other  important  questions  settled. 

This  section  of  the  building  is  at  its 
best  in  the  evening,  it  being  a  great 
moment  when,  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
the  lamp  over  the  cheese  box  on  the 
counter  is  lighted,  and  the  talk  begins. 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

Then  much  is  said  that  is  so,  and  a 
little  that  isn't — especially  about  the 
weather. 

Another  thing  to  be  noticed,  and  by 
no  means  of  least  importance,  is  the 
sign  on  the  outside  of  the  building. 
It  is  homemade  rather  than  hand- 
painted,  and  hangs  on  a  slight  bias, 
although  the  evident  intention  was  to 
hang  it  directly  over  the  door.  This 
sign  reminds  one  of  Ben  Franklin's 
famous  sign  of  three  words,  which 
played  such  an  important  part  in  the 
debate  leading  up  to  the  adoption  of 
tfie  Declaration  of  Independence.  For 
this  piece  of  board  has  three  words 
on  it — the  two  words  "post  office"  on 
the  upper  line,  and  the  word  giving 
the  name  of  the  place  on  the  line 
below. 

The  absence  of  the  word  "store" 
from  this  sign  has  caused  much  com- 

8 


THE    SETTLEMENT 

ment.  As  the  building  contains  sugar, 
crackers,  and  household  remedies,  it 
is  strange  that  this  word  does  not 
appear*  Some  have  found  in  the 
absence  of  the  word  an  indication  of 
an  unworldly  spirit.  They  reason  in 
this  way:  "When  the  words  for  the 
sign  were  selected  it  was  decided 
to  call  attention  only  to  that  portion 
of  the  building  in  which  things  are 
sold  without  profit — such  as  postage 
stamps  and  postal  cards.  Nothing 
should  appear  on  this  piece  of  board 
which  would  remotely  suggest  worldly 
gain* 

It  is  possible  that  this  interpretation 
is  correct,  although  it  requires  an 
ample  supply  of  genial  optimism  to 
accept  it.  Of  course  it  is  true  that  the 
typical  fisherman  of  the  Maine  coast 
possesses  an  unworldly  spirit — espe 
cially  in  the  preliminary  stages  leading 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

up  to  a  bargain*  He  never  thinks  of 
a  transaction  for  mere  gain*  If  he 
sells  anything,  from  a  box  of  matches 
to  a  little  dirt  with  much  rock — called 
a  shore  lot — it  is  simply  as  an  accom 
modation.  All  this  may  be  granted. 

However,  if  the  truth  must  be  told, 
the  absence  of  this  word  probably 
indicates  a  spirit  of  pride.  At  the  time 
appointed  for  the  painting  of  the  sign, 
the  fishermen,  with  their  wives  and 
children,  gathered  before  the  piece  of 
board  to  watch  the  local  artist  with  pot 
of  paint  and  brush  do  his  work. 
Realizing  the  importance  of  the  occa 
sion  and  that  history  was  in  the 
making,  an  impromptu  town  meeting 
was  held  on  the  spot,  and  by  acclama 
tion  it  was  voted  that  nothing  so  com 
monplace  as  the  word  "  store "  should 
appear.  The  building  within  was  a 

department  of  the  government;  a  link 
10 


THE   SETTLEMENT 

in  the  chain  of  imperial  democracy;  it 
was,  if  you  please,  a  post  office. 

There  is  evidence  of  the  existence 
of  this  pridet  apart  from  that  found  in 
the  absence  of  the  word  "store"  from 
the  sign.  This  evidence  is  presented 
when,  abotrt  six  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
the  wagon  with  the  mail  bag  rattles  up 
the  North  Road  and  comes  into  view. 
The  appearance  of  this  wagon  acts 
upon  the  settlement  as  a  sudden  shift 
in  the  wind  upon  the  atmosphere. 
Then  the  fishermen  stroll  up  from  the 
shore,  the  women  toss  aside  their 
aprons  and  come  over,  the  children 
swarm  in  from  play,  the  few  stragglers 
in  the  rear  of  the  store  move  forward, 
and  even  the  people  in  the  cottages 
rise  to  the  occasion  and  have  the  eve 
ning  meal  early,  that  they  may  be  on 
hand.  Yes,  pride  has  taken  deep  root 

in  this  fishing  settlement. 
u 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

Still  another  thing  to  be  noticed  is 
the  name  of  the  place  as  it  appears  on 
this  sign*  The  words  "Post  Office " 
are  on  the  tipper  line  and  in  letters  so 
large  that  a  wayfaring  man  though  out 
on  the  water  can  read  them*  Bat  the 
name  of  the  place  is  on  the  lower  line, 
and  in  letters  so  small  that  a  powerful 
marine  glass  is  needed  to  read  the 
word  fifty  feet  away*  It  seems  to  be 
sneaked  into  the  sign  and  crowded  tip 
close  to  the  two  larger  words* 

This  indicates  but  one  thing,  namely, 
the  fishermen  on  this  tip  of  the  island 
are  a  little  ashamed  of  the  name  given 
to  their  settlement*  Of  course,  they 
will  not  admit  this.  They  evade  the 
issue  by  never  pronouncing  the  name* 
When  off  from  home  a  few  miles  they 
are  always  from  the  "  Cape."  Never 
theless,  the  sign  gives  them  away* 

However,    the    fishermen    in    this 

12 


THE    SETTLEMENT 

settlement  should  not  be  blamed  too 
severely  for  this  lack  of  loyalty  to  the 
name.  All  things  considered,  they  are 
entitled  to  some  sympathy*  To  live 
amid  such  glorious  surroundings  with 
nature  at  her  best ;  to  have  the  lovely 
spot  discovered  by  the  government  and 
made  a  post  office ;  then  when  the  sign 
is  lettered  to  find  it  necessary  to  paint 
on  it  the  flat,  dull  drab  name  "Cre- 
waggen"!  No  wonder  they  sneaked 
the  name  into  the  sign  in  small  letters* 
Any  man  with  sensitive  nerves  would 
do  the  same. 

The  fact  ist  the  name  doesn't  jibe 
with  anything.  It  is  an  absolute 
antithesis  to  all  that  is  hereabouts. 
The  houses  of  the  fishermen,  with 
flowers  in  front  and  wood  piles  and 
chicken  coops  in  the  rear,  have  a  charm. 
The  old  fish  house,  the  dilapidated 
dock,  and  lobster  pots  frame  well  as  a 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

picture.  The  roads  and  paths  over 
the  rocks,  though  crooked  as  the  lines 
in  an  economist's  chart,  have  a  fasci 
nation.  The  store  with  the  counter, 
cracker  boxes,  and  glass  front  is  a 
pleasant  place  in  which  to  while  away 
an  hour*  Even  some  of  the  summer 
cottages,  if  one  is  in  a  generous  mood, 
seem  attractive*  But  the  name  of  this 
place  on  the  sign!  The  man  does  not 
exist  who  can  extract  from  it  a  single 
glint  of  beauty. 

If  the  name  is  Hat  and  dull  drab  as 
read  on  the  piece  of  board,  it  is  pos 
itively  irritating  when  audibly  pro 
nounced.  Then  it  scratches  the  mind 
as  the  briars  on  the  bush  scratch  the 
hand.  For  the  first  "e"  in  the  word 
is  long,  and  special  emphasis  is  placed 
upon  the  two  "g's."  On  a  day  in 
summer,  with  a  crisp  breeze  from  the 
southwest  blowing  through  the  pines 


THE    SETTLEMENT 

and  rustling  the  bayberry  leaves,  or 
with  a  wind  from  out  to  sea  playing  a 
marine  anthem  on  the  rockst  suddenly 
to  be  compelled  to  say  to  yourself  that 
you  are  at  Cre- wag-gen !  This  is  cer 
tainly  irritating* 

Yet,  all  things  considered,  the  name 
should  be  defended.  When  correctly 
understood  it  is  a  tribute  to  the  com 
mon  sense  of  the  grandfathers  of  these 
fishermen*  A  little  reason  mixed  with 
more  imagination  will  furnish  an  argu 
ment  something  like  this :  In  physics 
there  is  a  law  that  every  action  is 
followed  by  an  opposite  and  equal 
reaction*  These  early  settlers  uncon 
sciously  carried  this  law  over  into  the 
realm  of  nomenclature*  Coming  upon 
this  spot  with  its  wild  beauty,  the 
action  was  such  as  to  well-nigh  lift 
them  outside  of  themselves*  Under 

the    influence    of    this    action    they 
J5 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

struggled  to  express  their  feelings  by 
giving  a  name  to  the  place*  Realizing 
their  utter  helplessness  to  find  a  word 
for  their  feelings,  a  reaction  followed, 
and  in  despair  they  said — "Crewag- 
gen!" 


IL    THE  FISHERMAN 

The  sign  on  the  outside  having 
attracted  our  attention,  and  its  words 
read  with  some  care,  let  us  again  enter 
the  building  and  acquaint  ourselves 
with  the  man  behind  the  sign  as  he  is 
responsible  for  these  pages* 

In  appearance  he  suggests  the  year 
sixty,  although  it  is  dangerous  to  guess 
the  age  of  one  bred  by  the  sea. 
Should  he  stand  erect,  the  length  of 
two  yard  sticks  would  be  needed;  but 
this  he  will  never  do,  for  he  has  spent 
too  many  hours  standing  with  face  to 
the  bow  while  rowing  his  dory  to  ever 
again  straighten  to  his  full  height*  In 
frame  he  is  loose  jointed,  angular,  and 
the  weights  for  a  hundred  and  seventy 
pounds  are  needed.  His  hands  are 
big,  and  being  connected  with  arms 

17 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

that  hang  like  pieces  of  well-worn 
ropet  they  are  apt  to  deceive,  until  one 
of  them  closes  with  a  friendly  grip* 
The  head  is  well  formed,  with  hair 
abundant  and  almost  white,  that 
comes  down  to  a  forehead  plenty  wide 
and  none  too  high.  His  eyes  would  be 
called  small,  nearly  round,  and  bluish 
gray;  they  twinkle  easily,  but  usually 
are  quiet  and  faintly  pathetic.  Of  the 
nose  little  should  be  said  other  than 
that  it  is  bulbous,  and  in  certain,  kinds 
of  weather  takes  on  color,  although  its 
owner  hates  whisky  as  he  does  poison. 
The  mouth  is  fairly  large,  flanked  by 
the  lines  of  a  strong  but  not  pronounced 
jaw,  and  with  firm  lips  that  meet 
accurately.  From  between  these  lips 
issues  a  voice  gentle,  and  just  short 
of  womanish,  with  an  accent  soft  and 
delicious  as  any  heard  among  men. 
In  speech  he  is  reserved,  but  if  the 

18 


THE    FISHERMAN 


right  spot  in  his  mental  organism  is 
touched,  he  will  talk  easily,  always 
quaintly,  sometimes  humorously,  and 
usually  wisely*  His  name  is  Caleb 
Matthews — not  an  unpleasant  name, 
known  with  no  undue  familiarity  in 
these  pages  as  Caleb,  but  whose  full 
title  is  Captain  Caleb  Matthews,  lobster 
fisherman,  and  incidentally  postmaster 
and  storekeeper  of  Crewaggen. 

Although  a  lobster  fisherman,  and 
incidentally  one  or  two  other  things, 
Caleb,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word, 
is  a  man  of  the  world,  for  he  has 
traveled  far  beyond  the  lobster  buoys 
that  bob  up  and  down  off  shore.  He 
has  sailed  to  China  twice,  and  bucked 
the  crowd  on  the  water  front  at  Hong 
kong;  once  he  rounded  Cape  Horn 
and  slipped  through  the  Golden  Gate, 
with  the  foothills  of  the  Sierras  on 
the  sky  line  and  dead  ahead;  several 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

times  he  has  fished  on  the  Grand 
Banks  when  the  heave  of  the  sea  made 
the  boat  stand  on  end*  But  the  trip 
he  likes  to  talk  about,  when  he  will 
talk  at  all*  is  the  one  that  sent  him 
into  New  York  harbor*  and  gave  him  a 
chance  to  strollvup  Ftilton  Street  while 
his  boat  unloaded  its  cargo  of  fish  at 
the  wharf*  Simply  mention  the  famous 
thoroughfare,  with  Brooklyn  Bridge 
thrown  in*  and  something  will  start  in 
Caleb's  mental  organism* 

All  this*  however,  is  in  the  distant 
past.  Thirty  years  ago  he  returned 
to  Crewaggen*  settled  down*  married 
his  wife*  and  started  a  home*  Then 
he  began  tacking  laths  on  his  lobster 
pots,  baiting  them*  rowing  off  shore  to 
haul  and  lower,  and  with  the  proceeds 
of  his  labor  to  provide  frugally  for  his 
wife,  and  later  for  his  six  children. 
Having  done  such  things  for  all  these 

20 


THE    FISHERMAN 


yearst  he  will  continue  to  do  them  until 
his  legs  become  too  unsteady  to  support 
him  in  his  boat  and  his  arms  too  weak 
to  haul  the  lobster  pots  in  fifty  or  more 
feet  of  water. 

In  addition  to  being  well  traveled, 
Caleb  is  something  of  a  historian* 
While  voyaging  to  distant  lands  is 
with  him  only  a  memory,  yet  as  a  his 
torian  he  frequently  journeys  into  the 
past,  for  he  has  a  real  instinct  for 
history.  Although  he  is  the  only  fisher 
man  in  the  settlement  who  by  any 
stretch  of  imagination  could  be  called 
a  historian,  yet  he  comes  by  this  in 
stinct  naturally.  For  off  to  the  south 
west  a  few  miles  is  Popham  Beach, 
where  the  first  boat  in  America  was 
launched  in  J607.  Within  easy  sailing 
distance  to  the  northeast  is  Pemaquid, 
which  disputes  with  Jamestown  the 
claim  of  being  the  first  permanent 

21 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

white  settlement  in  the  New  World. 
He  is  proud  of  these  facts  and  responds 
to  them  as  a  traveler  from  inland  re 
sponds  to  the  ozone  of  the  ocean.  If 
sufficiently  stirredt  he  willt  with  vivid 
ness  and  a  language  all  his  ownt  make 
these  events  of  the  distant  past  live 
again.  Could  his  words  be  printed, 
they  would  make  many  pages  of  some 
learned  historians  seem  dull  enough. 
History  for  him  is  not  science,  but 
primarily  literature,  even  though  the 
form  of  his  literature  is  quaint  and 
decidedly  colloquial. 

However,  Caleb  is  seen  at  his  best 
as  a  historian,  when  on  rare  occasions, 
perhaps  once  during  the  summer,  he 
leaves  you  standing  on  the  shore, 
while  he  goes  to  the  house,  only  to 
return  with  a  little  varnished  box.  In 
this  box  are  two  documents:  one  a 
facsimile  copy  of  the  Declaration  of 

22 


THE    FISHERMAN 


Independence,  which  his  father  before 
him  secured  with  a  subscription  to  a 
magazine;  the  othert  a  faded  news 
paper  containing  an  account  of  a  sea 
fight  off  the  shore  of  Crewaggen  in  the 
War  of  J8J2* 

If  Caleb  shares  the  pride  of  the 
settlement  each  day  when  the  mail 
bag  arrives,  he  indulges  in  a  pride  all 
his  own  when  he  reveals  the  contents 
of  this  box*  In  fact,  it  is  worth  a  trip 
to  this  tip  of  the  island  to  see  this 
native  historian  on  such  an  occasion* 
That  subtle  something  called  general 
attitude  reveals  this  pride:  the  move 
ment  of  the  big  hand  as  with  tiny  key 
the  box  is  unlocked;  the  adjustment  of 
the  steel-rimmed  spectacles  prepara 
tory  to  the  unfolding  of  the  documents ; 
and  the  expression  of  awe  mingled 
with  affection  as  he  looks  upon  them 
and  then  hands  them  to  his  friend* 

23 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

It  is  a  critical  moment  for  the  priv 
ileged  one  to  whom  are  handed  these 
documents.  Caleb  stands  off  and  with 
weather  eye  peeled,  watches  the 
countenance  to  decide  whether  you  are 
capable  of  appreciating  his  treasures* 
If  you  fail  to  rise  to  the  occasion, 
henceforth  you  will  be  merely  an 
acquaintance  treated  with  proper  re 
spect,  but  by  no  amount  of  good  works 
in  other  directions  can  you  enter  the 
inner  circle  of  his  friendship.  The 
damage  done  is  simply  irreparable. 

In  attempting  to  understand  Caleb, 
it  is  necessary  to  admit  that  he  has 
his  limitations.  For  one  thing,  he  has 
a  prejudice  or  two.  This  may  seem 
strange  in  a  man  with  such  a  marked 
instinct  for  history.  The  one  limita 
tion  that  the  true  historian  is  supposed 
not  to  have  is  prejudice.  But  Caleb 
in  some  respects  is  a  law  unto  him- 

24 


THE    FISHERMAN 


self,  for  he  certainly  has  the  his 
torical  instinct,  and  with  equal  cer 
tainty  it  must  be  affirmed  he  has  prej 
udice* 

A  dozen  years  ago,  when  a  few  con 
genial  spirits  from  the  outside  world 
discovered  Crewaggen,  the  building 
with  the  sign  over  the  door  was  not 
standing*  Then  the  post  office  was  in 
a  room  at  the  end  of  Caleb's  house* 
Being  some  miles  from  the  nearest 
store,  these  newcomers  prevailed 
upon  him  to  lay  in  a  few  dry  groceries* 
Later  they  persuaded  him  to  send 
away  for  a  bunch  of  bananas*  This  he 
did  against  his  better  judgment,  as  it 
seemed  a  waste  of  time  to  deal  in  any 
thing  so  unnecessary  to  human  exist 
ence*  In  fact,  his  conscience  disturbed 
him,  for  he  saw  in  this  demand  unmis 
takable  evidence  of  a  growing  spirit 
of  worldliness. 

25 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

When  the  bananas  arrived  the  crav 
ing  for  luxury  was  so  strong  that  in  a 
few  minutes  they  were  sold*  A  belated 
cottager  appeared  on  the  scene  and 
inquired  for  some*  Caleb,  with  ominous 
firmness,  announced  that  he  had  none* 
The  cottager  made  bold  to  suggest 
that  he  send  for  another  bunch*  The 
reply  was  decidedly  in  the  negative. 
Then  the  would-be  purchaser  made 
the  mistake  of  attempting  to  argue  the 
question*  This  proved  too  much  for 
the  storekeeper,  who  was  in  no  mood 
for  argument*  He  had  eased  his  con 
science  somewhat  by  disposing  of  the 
bananas,  yet  he  was  a  trifle  dis 
appointed  that  he  had  disposed  of 
them*  This  may  seem  contradictory, 
but  human  nature  is  not  altogether 
consistent,  even  in  fishermen*  So, 
laying  aside  the  newspaper  which  he 
had  pretended  to  read — not  considering 

26 


THE    FISHERMAN 


the  conversation  of  sufficient  impor 
tance  to  require  his  undivided  atten 
tion — he  delivered  himself  as  fol 
lows: 

"You  folks  from  the  city  provoke 
me.  Gainst  my  own  f  eelin's  I  got  the 
bananas*  Before  I'd  a  chance  to  hang 
'em  ttp  you  bought  'em*  Now  you 
come  'round  wantin'  me  to  send  for 
more.  I  won't  do  it*  For  I  hain't 
goin'  to  sell  nuthin'  I  can't  keep*" 

The  late  arrival  had  no  answer  for 
this  argument*  There  was  simply 
nothing  more  to  say.  He  only  won 
dered  whether  Caleb  would  make  a 
good  storekeeper*  This  was  some 
years  ago*  Later  the  store  was  moved 
into  the  frame  building  and  the  sign 
painted*  Now  bananas  may  occasion 
ally  be  seen  in  the  store;  but  Caleb 
will  not  touch  them.  His  son,  a  fine 

young  fellow,   pulls    them    from    the 
27 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

stem,  in  addition  to  weighing  the 
pounds  of  sugar,  cutting  the  slices  of 
cheese,  and  drawing  the  gallons  of 
kerosene  oil*  It  is  only  at  odd  mo 
ments  that  the  father  wanders  behind 
the  counter* 

Another  fact  about  Caleb,  which 
must  be  considered  a  limitation,  is  the 
existence  of  a  strain  of  sentiment, 
which,  usually  well  hidden,  has  been 
known  to  come  to  the  surface  and 
retard  the  dispatch  of  his  official  bus 
iness*  There  is  reason  to  believe  that 
he  is  unconscious  of  this*  For  while, 
in  the  school  of  experience,  he  has 
learned  of  his  limitations  behind  the 
counter,  yet  he  refuses  to  admit  any 
limitations  in  the  performance  of  his 
duties  as  postmaster*  He  knows  that 
he  was  appointed  during  the  ad 
ministration  of  President  Harrison, 
and  he  proposes  to  be  loyal  to  his 

28 


THE    FISHERMAN 


trust*  All  the  lobster  pots  off  the 
Maine  coast  would  not  keep  him  away 
when  the  mail  bag  arrives. 

Yet  it  was  in  the  performance  of  his 
dtrty  as  postmaster  that  sentiment 
once  got  the  better  of  him*  The  sit 
uation  was  this:  A  young  lady  by 
name  Kate  Matthews,  though  not 
related,  was  visiting  Crewaggen.  On 
a  Monday  evening  she  went  to  the 
post  office  expecting  an  important 
letter  which  she  had  reason  to  believe 
had  been  mailed  in  New  York  on  the 
preceding  Saturday  morning*  With 
Sunday  intervening  the  letter  should 
have  arrived,  but,  to  her  disappoint 
ment,  it  was  not  in  her  mail*  She 
accepted  what  seemed  the  inevitable* 
The  next  afternoon  Caleb  appeared  at 
the  cottage  and  handed  her  the  letter. 
She  was  much  surprised  and  inquired 
where  it  came  from* 

29 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

"  Uncle  Sam  brought  it,"  was  the 
reply* 

"But  there  has  been  no  mail  since 
last  night,  has  there,  Captain  ? " 

"Nope/"  said  Caleb* 

"  Well,  I  don't  understand  this,  for  I 
inquired  for  my  mail  last  night." 

The  postmaster  was  cornered  and 
he  knew  it,  so  he  said,  a  little  nerv 
ously:  "Til  tell  you*  I'd  a  sister 
named  Kate  Matthews,  the  same  as 
yours*  She  went  to  Californy  'bout 
twenty  years  ago*  Hain't  seen  or 
heard  nuthin'  from  her  since*  Last 
night  when  fingerin'  the  letters  an' 
pokin'  them  in  the  boxes,  I  came  on 
this  one,  an'  the  sight  o'  the  name 
made  me  feel  kind  o'  queer*  I  jest 
couldn't  help  it,  so  I  tucked  it  one 
side*  After  the  folks  was  gone  I  took 
it  out  an'  looked  at  it*  Then  I  placed 
it  on  the  window  sill,  an'  every  now 

30 


THE    FISHERMAN 


an*  then  this  mornin'  Fd  go  over  an* 
look  at  it*  But  'while  ago*  it  come 
over  me  that  you  might  want  it*  so 
here  it  be." 

Those  who  heard  this  conversation 
thought  none  the  less  of  Caleb — per 
haps  a  little  more*  However,  they 
realized  thai  his  largest  success  in  life 
might  not  come  in  the  postal  service. 
The  fact  is,  he  is  not  seen  under  the 
most  favorable  circumstances  within 
this  building.  This  does  not  mean 
that  one  need  be  ashamed  of  him 
here.  There  is  a  native  dignity  that 
enables  him  to  carry  himself  well  any 
where.  But  there  is  too  much  of  him, 
in  more  senses  than  one,  to  appear  to 
the  best  advantage  while  handing  out 
letters  through  a  little  opening  in  a 
post  office  partition,  or  while  standing 
behind  a  counter  with  pencil  poised  on 
a  cheese  box.  He  needs  the  shore 

31 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

with  rocks,  an  ample  sky  Iinct  a  large 
stretch  of  water,  and  plenty  of  air. 

Still  another  limitation  in  the  life  of 
Caleb  is  a  deep  sorrow,  accompanied 
by  a  sense  of  mystery  and  balanced 
by  a  strong  faith*  Unlike  the  limita 
tions  mentioned,  through  this  one  he 
has  come  into  a  larger  life,  thus 
making  real  for  himself  the  strange 
paradox  that  freedom  is  conditioned 
upon  restriction, 

The  few  words  spoken  by  this  noble 
man  about  his  sorrow  will  linger  long 
in  the  memory  of  his  friend*  They 
were  uttered  down  by  the  old  fish 
house  as  the  two  sat  there  watching 
the  night  come  on*  It  was  Sunday, 
and  Caleb  had  on  his  black  suit  and 
starched  shirt,  for  the  sense  of  fitness 
was  strong  with  him,  and  he  yielded 
to  this  burden  for  one  day  in  seven. 
In  the  little  harbor  the  fishing  boats 

32 


THE    FISHERMAN 


were  resting  at  their  moorings,  in 
preparation  for  another  week  of  work* 
A  new  moon  was  gently  splashing  a 
trail  on  the  water;  the  flash  of  the 
light  on  Battegat  was  growing  clearer 
as  the  darkness  increased;  the  sea 
was  restless,  but  not  turbulent,  as  it 
rolled  in  on  a  flood  tide  and  washed 
over  the  rocks  off  Bakers  Island;  it 
was  an  hour  when  the  spirit  as  it 
experienced  a  "  sense  of  something  far 
more  deeply  interfused "  was  encour 
aged  to  feel  itself  more  than  the  body* 
After  a  brief  lull  in  the  conversation 
Caleb,  who  was  twisting  a  few  blades 
of  grass  in  his  fingers,  swung  his  eyes 
around  like  a  searchlight  feeling  out 
the  channel,  and,  fastening  them  upon 
his  friend,  quietly  asked  whether  he 
really  believed  in  Providence*  The 
question  marked  a  change  in  the  con 
versation,  for  nothing  had  been  said 
33 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

on  the  subject*  But  the  friend  under 
stood  what  was  in  his  mind.  Five 
years  before  his  loyal  wife  had  been 
mentally  afflicted,  and  growing  worse, 
only  darkness  of  the  mind  seemed 
ahead. 

Caleb  had  never  complained  of  this, 
and  through  it  all  had  played  the 
part  of  a  brave  and  tender  man.  He 
had  refused  to  commit  this  companion 
of  the  years  to  an  asylum.  On  one 
occasion,  and  only  one,  he  had  said  to 
his  friend  in  his  own  quiet  but  deter 
mined  way:  "To  put  my  wife  in  one 
o'  'em  'sylums  would  be  throwin'  her 
overboard;  I  can't  do  it;  she's  bin 
good  to  me  an'  the  children.  I'm 
goin'  to  stand  by  an'  weather  the 
storm  with  her." 

The  friend  knew  that  the  mystery 
of  this  affliction  was  in  his  mind,  as  he 
asked  the  question,  and  so  in  reply  he 

34 


THE    FISHERMAN 


expressed  a  little  doubt  about  the 
workings  of  Providence.  It  was  then 
that  Caleb  made  him  feel  ashamed,  as 
he  swung  his  eyes  out  to  sea  again, 
and  said  half  to  himself:  "It's  a  slowt 
wet  wind  that's  bin  blowin'  'gainst  my 
life.  But  it  can't  always  stay  in  this 
quarter.  Some  time  it'll  shift  an' 
when  it  does  the  fog  will  move  out 
to  sea  an'  it'll  be  clear*  Till  then  I'll 
lay  to  an'  wait  it  out." 

Life  for  this  true-hearted  fisherman 
had  taken  on  meaning  as  the  result  of 
his  sorrow.  His  friend  then  under 
stood  why  a  tender  pathos  was  faintly 
reflected  in  his  eyes — for  it  was  in  his 
soul* 


35 


IIL    THE  PICTURES 

Curiously,  through  the  dozen  years, 
which  began  with  mere  acquaintance, 
quickly  passed  into  friendship,  and 
finally  deepened  into  affection,  the 
friend  had  never  entered  the  house 
of  Caleb*  Often  on  a  stormy  day  he 
had  sat  on  a  soap  box  in  the  store  and 
visited;  frequently  he  had  whittled  a 
piece  of  wood  down  by  the  rocks  while 
the  other  mended  his  lobster  pots; 
and  on  a  few  occasions  they  had 
walked  along  the  North  Road  or  sat 
by  the  shore  on  Sunday  afternoons; 
but  never  had  they  talked  things  over 
in  the  house  until  one  day  last  sum 
mer* 

Then  word  came  that  Caleb,  while 
climbing  up  the  ladder  on  to  the  dock, 
had  slipped  and  badly  strained  his 

36 


THE    PICTURES 


leg,  and  as  a  result  was  laid  up  at 
home.  Hearing  of  this,  the  friend 
thought  of  it  as  an  opportunity  for  a 
friendly  visit*  So,  going  over  to  the 
house,  he  found  him  sitting  in  a  rocking 
chair  by  the  window,  his  lame  leg 
stretched  out  and  across  a  chair  in 
front  of  him*  The  room  was  a  kitchen, 
dining,  and  living  room  combined. 
It  was  spotlessly  clean,  as  would  be 
expected  if  this  man  made  it  his  place 
of  abode.  The  central  ornament  was 
a  cookstove,  with  its  shining  blackness 
set  off  by  nickel  trimmings*  Behind 
the  stove  was  a  plain,  high*  old- 
fashioned  mantel  with  a  single  shelf— 
the  whole  painted  gray — and  on  the 
shelf  a  wooden  clock  which  ticked  out 
the  minutes*  Built  into  one  of  the 
walls  of  the  room  was  a  cupboard  with 
shelves  neatly  covered  with  white 

paper.     The   table   was    set    for  the 
37 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

next  meal,  with  a  netting  thrown  over 
to  keep  out  the  flies* 

It  is  not  always  easy  to  converse 
with  Caleb,  and  this  apparently  was 
one  of  his  reticent  days*  After  the 
proper  expression  of  sympathy  had 
been  made  for  his  ailment  there  came 
a  pause,  during  which  his  friend  sat 
looking  around  the  room  for  a  sugges 
tion*  Presently  his  eye  fell  upon 
three  little  pictures  in  frames  about 
ten  by  twelve  inches,  and  hanging  on 
the  wall  diagonally  opposite* 

Owing  to  the  shadow  in  the  room 
he  could  not  make  out  the  pictures 
from  where  he  sat.  Soon  the  after 
noon  sun  worked  around  and  flooded 
the  wall  with  light*  Then,  to  his  sur 
prise,  he  saw  that  the  three  pictures 
were  inexpensive  photographs  of  the 
famous  paintings  of  Millet,  "The 
Sowers/'  "The  Gleaners,"  and  "The 

38 


THE   PICTURES 


Angelas/'  He  had  known  Caleb  long 
enough  to  expect  anything,  but  he  had 
not  expected  to  find  such  pictures  on 
the  wall  of  his  room. 

After  the  surprise  had  passed,  and 
while  carrying  on  a  desultory  con 
versation,  he  reached  the  conclusion 
that  a  summer  visitor,  who  had  been 
the  recipient  of  his  kindness,  had, 
upon  returning  to  the  city,  sent  him 
these  photographs  as  a  token  of  appre 
ciation.  Not  knowing  what  else  to  do 
with  them,  they  had  been  hung  upon 
the  wall* 

Satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  the 
correct  explanation  had  been  found 
for  the  pictures  being  there,  the  friend 
expressed  his  interest  in  them.  At 
once  the  face  of  Caleb  brightened, 
indicating  that  another  spot  in  his 
mental  organism  had  been  touched; 
that  here  was  an  interest  that  rivaled 

39 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

Fulton  Street  in  New  York,  and  the 
two  documents  in  the  varnished  box. 
The  pictures  had  become  part  of  him 
self,  as  good  pictures  in  a  home  should. 

This  encouraged  the  friend  to  ask 
a  question  or  two,  so  he  said:  "If  you 
don't  mind  the  question,  I  am  won 
dering  where  these  pictures  came 
from?" 

"Portland,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

This  answer  was  unexpected*  Had 
he  replied,  "New  York"  or  "Boston," 
the  theory  of  the  summer  visitor  would 
have  been  fairly  established,  as  there 
were  several  in  the  little  vacation 
colony  from  these  cities,  but  none  from 
Portland*  The  friend  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  as  he  always  respected  any 
reserve  on  the  part  of  Caleb*  Presently 
the  fisherman,  with  that  fine  instinct 
for  courtesy  so  characteristic  of  him, 

knowing  that  something  more  should 

40 


THE   PICTURES 


be  said,  continued:  "Railroad  ran  an 
excursion  from  Bath  to  Portland  last 
fall,  an'  fs  hadn't  bin  there  in  years, 
went  over*  Landin'  at  station,  an* 
havin'  no  course  laid,  was  driftin'  'long 
an'  come  over  'gainst  store  window 
with  these  picters." 

This  settled  the  summer  visitor  theo 
ry,  so  the  friend  while  making  the 
necessary  readjustment  in  his  mind 
remarked:  "Well,  you  have  copies  of 
three  of  the  great  paintings  of  the 
world*  I  have  two  of  them  in  my 
house  in  New  York,  and  wish  I  had 
the  third  one." 

That  Caleb  should  be  interested  in 
pictures  to  the  extent  of  buying  them 
was  something  of  a  surprise*  During 
the  years  of  acquaintance  he  had  never 
expressed  any  appreciation  of  the  beau 
tiful  in  nature,  other  than  to  say  oc 
casionally  that,  "it  was  a  big  sort 

41 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

o*  day,"  or  "the  night  was  ruther 
strange*"  Yet  here  he  was  confessing 
that  he  had  spent  his  hard-earned 
money  for  three  photographs  of  famous 
paintings* 

More  than  this,  by  his  own  state 
ment,  he  had  paused  in  front  of  a  store 
window,  and  fastened  his  attention 
upon  pictures  of  scenes  entirely  re 
moved  from  his  own  experience.  He 
was  a  lobster  fisherman,  yet  the  proud 
possessor  of  farm  scenes*  How  to 
account  for  this  was  not  clear,  so  the 
friend  put  out  a  feeler  by  saying :  "  I 
suppose,  Caleb,  these  were  the  only 
pictures  in  the  window*  Probably,  if 
there  had  been  pictures  of  the  ocean 
— what  they  call  marine  views — you 
would  have  bought  them  instead  of 
these*" 

"Nope,"  was  the  instant  reply;  "I 
bought  fem  'cause  I  wanted  'em*" 

42 


THE   PICTURES 


As  he  said  this  there  was  in  his 
voice  a  slight  intimation  that  he  wished 
his  friend  to  understand  that  he  knew 
what  he  was  doing,  even  though  away 
from  home.  In  other  words,  that  at 
the  moment  when  he  bought  these 
pictures  in  Portland  he  was  clothed  in 
his  right  mind  and  had  intelligently 
exercised  his  judgment. 

"His  friend  accepted  this  gentle  re 
buke  and  remarked:  **  Caleb,  you  are 
an  odd  combination*  For  a  dozen 
years  now  you  have  kept  me  guessing* 
I  never  know  what  you  will  do  next. 
Here  you  are  a  fisherman  who  makes 
a  living  with  his  lobster  pots,  going 
over  to  Portland  and  buying  pictures 
of  farm  scenes." 

This  was  said  half  jokingly,  but  the 
other  caught  not  only  the  spirit  of  the 
words,  but  the  humor  of  the  situation, 
and,  chuckling  softly  to  himself,  replied, 

43 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

"Dunne/  'boot  that;   s'pose  'tis  kind 
o*  queer." 

This  disposition  to  relent,  even 
though  slightly,  gave  the  friend  his 
opportunity,  and  so  he  said:  "Really 
now,  Caleb,  wouldn't  you  rather  have 
pictures  of  the  sea?  I  admit  these 
are  very  fine,  and  I  am  glad  that  you 
have  them,  but,  after  all,  you  are  a 
fisherman.  Just  think  of  a  picture  of 
one  of  those  handsome  steam  yachts 
that  pass  to  and  from  Bar  Harbor. 
I  know  you  pretend  not  to  care  for 
them,  yet  I  think  that  down  in  your 
heart  you  are  proud  of  the  fact  that 
they  pass  near  this  shore  in  the  sum 
mer.  Just  imagine  one  of  those  beau 
tiful  things,  dressed  in  white;  seem 
ingly  bedecked  in  jewels,  as  the  shining 
metal  trimmings  flash  back  the  sun 
light  ;  and  bowing  itself  forward  through 
the  waves  with  the  grace  of  a  society 

44 


THE    PICTURES 


queen*  Now,  wouldn't  you  like  such 
a  picture  ?  " 

"Nope,"  he  replied,  "got  the  pic- 
ters  I  want*  Don't  mind  'em  fashion 
boats  that  pass  'long  there*  They're 
reel  putty ! "  This  was  quite  an 
admission  for  him  to  make,  as  he 
had  a  prejudice  against  handsome 
steam  yachts,  not  unlike  that  against 
bananas*  Then  he  added,  "I'd  ruther 
see  one  o'  'em  little  boats  that  chunks 
'long  near  shore*" 

As  he  said  this  a  little,  broad-beamed, 
made-over  sail  boat,  with  a  gasoline 
engine,  and  loaded  with  young  people 
from  a  boarding  house  up  the  island, 
could  be  seen  from  the  window.  On 
pleasant  days  a  number  of  these  boats 
appear,  it  being  a  favorite  trip  to  come 
down  one  shore  and  return  by  the  other 
shore,  thus  making  a  circuit  of  the 
island.  They  look  like  small  trans- 

45 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

ports  about  to  land  an  army*  Now  and 
then  one  of  them  does  land  its  invading 
force,  which  storms  the  store*  plays 
havoc  with  the  penny  candy  in  the 
show  caset  and  carries  away  not  a 
little  of  the  crackers  and  cheese* 
These  boats  in  moving  through  the 
water  lack  the  grace  of  the  big  white 
yachts,  btrt  coming  near  shore,  if  the 
wind  is  right,  laughter  may  be  heard, 
and  that  is  worth  more  in  the  summer 
time  than  graceful  lines* 

The  friend  was  inclined  to  agree  with 
Caleb  in  his  preference  for  these 
smaller  boats*  He  could  not  share  his 
prejudice  against  the  larger  boats,  yet 
often  while  watching  them  in  the  dis 
tance  as  they  moved  swiftly  through 
the  water,  with  the  smaller  boats  pant 
ing  along  near  shore,  he  had  the  feel 
ing  that  perhaps  those  aboard  the  big 
boats  went  farther  and  lived  less,  and 

46 


THE    PICTURES 


those  on  the  small  boats  traveled  less 
and  lived  more*  So  he  said  to  the 
fisherman :  "I  will  change  from  the  big* 
white  craft  to  one  of  these  small, 
chunking  motor  boats,  with  the  mast 
taken  out*  For  if  you  had  a  picture  of 
one  of  them  hanging  there,  in  the 
winter  time  you  could  imagine  you 
heard  the  young  people  laughing,  and 
that  would  do  you  good* 

"  Then,  Caleb,  think  of  a'  picture  of 
this  shore*  Let's  see — a  picture  of  the 
rocks  off  Sunrise  Point*  I  should  like 
it  with  the  tide  low,  but  having  turned ; 
the  sea  uneasy  under  the  lash  of  the 
wind,  the  surf  tossing  its  spray  into 
the  air,  and  over  all  the  clear,  spark 
ling  light  of  the  early  morning,  with  the 
sun  not  far  above  the  rim*  "Wouldn't 
that  make  a  splendid  picture  ?  " 

"  'Bout  'em  rocks  at  Sunrise  Point," 
he  replied;  "there  ain't  none  finer  on 

47 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

Maine  shore*  An'  I  know  'em  well's 
any  o'  these  painters  that  come  down 
here  with  umbrellas  and  stools  an*  sit 
'round  all  day  paintin'  'em,  I've  had 
some  pots  otrt  there  for  mos'  thirty 
years*  an'  had  to  row  off  Sunrise  Point 
good  many  times*  I  don't  mind  'em 
painters  paintin'  'em.  But  what's  use 
o'  me  buyin'  picters  o'  what  I've  got  ? 
Ain't  they  there  every  mornin'  when  I 
go  otrt  ?  " 

The  friend  had  to  admit  the  force  of 
this  reasoning.  However,  he  had  one 
more  suggestion  in  reserve,  for  he 
remembered  how  on  one  occasion 
Caleb  had  described  the  ship  in  which 
he  had  rounded  Cape  Horn,  So  he 
said:  "Well,  it  may  be  true  about  Sun 
rise  Point,  but  it  is  not  true  about  that 
fine  clipper  ship  you  sailed  down  the 
Atlantic  and  up  the  Pacific  in.  There 
is  nothing  like  her  that  passes  off  this 

48 


THE    PICTURES 


shore  now*  Just  think  of  a  picture 
hanging  there  of  a  square-rigged  ship, 
every  inch  of  canvas  set,  and  leaning 
a  little  in  a  stiff  breeze*  I  should  think 
you  would  rather  have  such  a  picture 
than  one  of  a  farmer  sowing  seed*" 

He  couldn't  resist  this,  and,  his  face 
brightening,  he  replied:  "OaTate  a 
picture  of  the  Samuel  Langf ord  would 
look  ruther  nice  hangin'  there*  But 
there  wa'n't  one  like  her  in  the 
store*" 

Then  the  mystical  process  by  which 
the  mind  projects  itself  beyond  the 
body  and  goes  wandering  in  distant 
regions  revealed  itself  in  his  counte 
nance*  For  a  moment  he  was  young 
again  and  sailing  in  waters  far  away* 

The  friend  overlooked  the  mixing 
of  genders,  for  with  a  sailor,  every 
ship,  whatever  its  name,  is  feminine. 
So,  calling  the  fisherman  back  from 

49 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

distant  waters  to  Portland  near  by,  he 
said:  "That  seems  strange,  for  I  have 
seen  pictures  of  square-rigged  ships  in 
store  windows*  Certainly,  in  Portland, 
which  is  an  important  shipping  port, 
there  mast  be  many  such  pictures*  I 
suppose,  of  course,  you  asked  the  man 
in  the  store  if  he  had  such  a  picture/' 
Caleb  hesitated  and  seemed  a  trifle 
embarrassed,  for  it  dawned  upon  him 
that  perhaps  he  had  slighted  the  ship 
that  carried  him  through  so  many 
kinds  of  weather,  and  along  the  coasts 
of  two  continents  in  the  long  ago. 
Then  he  answered  in  a  tone  of  voice 
that  suggested  that  he  was  disposed 
to  stand  his  ground,  although  con 
scious  of  the  fact  that  he  was  being 
crowded  a  little:  "Nope,  I  didn't  ask 
the  man  nuthin'*  I  saw  'em  picters 
hangin'  there  an*  told  the  man  I 

wanted  'em/' 

so 


THE    PICTURES 


What  he  meant  by  this,  taken  in 
connection  with  his  statement  that 
there  was  no  picture  of  a  square- 
rigged  ship  in  the  store,  was,  that 
being  interested  in  these  pictures  of 
Millet,  he  did  not  see  others,  and, 
therefore,  failed  to  see  a  picture  of  a 
ship* 

The  conversation  thus  far  had 
brought  out  two  facts :  one  that  Caleb 
bought  these  pictures — the  apprecia 
tive  summer  visitor  being  a  myth; 
the  other,  that  he  bought  these  pic 
tures  because  these  were  the  partic 
ular  pictures  he  wanted — mention  of 
Sunrise  Point,  a  ship,  and  yacht  having 
awakened  no  sense  of  disappointment. 

With  these  facts  in  mind  the  friend 
ventured  a  little  further,  and  remarked : 
"  A  man  doesn't  have  to  know  all  about 
a  thing  to  admire  it.  What  I  don't 
know  about  lobster-fishing  would  fill 

51 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

a  good-sized  book,  yet  I  would  like  a 
picture  of  you,  Caleb,  in  your  dory, 
with  three  or  four  pots  in  the  bow, 
and  you  rowing  out  to  one  of  your 
buoys*  And  I  suppose  you  felt  the 
same  way  about  these  farm  pictures." 

44  Guess  you're  right,"  he  replied. 
"I  don't  pertend  to  know  much  'bout 
farmin' — 'less  you  count  keepin'  a 
few  chickens." 

"Then  I  suppose,  Caleb,  a  man  likes 
a  change.  I  know  that,  having  spent 
most  of  the  year  in  the  city,  it  seems 
good  to  come  down  here  for  a  change* 
Probably,  when  you  were  in  Portland 
and  saw  these  pictures  you  felt  the 
same  way.  You  have  lived  by  the 
sea  most  of  your  life,  and  pictures  of 
land  seemed  good." 

"There's  suthin'  in  what  you  say. 
'Tis  sort  o'  nateral  to  want  a  change. 

Born     here;     paddled    'round    these 
52 


THE    PICTURES 


rocks  when  a  boy;  went  to  sea;  come 
back,  an*  s'pose  I'll  die  here." 

"I  imagine,  Caleb,  if,  when  you 
reached  the  store  window  in  Portland, 
you  had  seen  a  picture  of  Mount 
Washington,  or  Niagara  Falls,  you 
would  have  liked  it  just  as  much  as 
these  pictures*  It  was  the  thought  of 
something  other  than  you  are  accus 
tomed  to  that  interested  you/' 

Ideal  conversation  consists  in  the 
search  for  agreements*  Judged  by 
this  standard  the  conversation  was 
now  moving  with  delightful  smooth 
ness*  The  friend  was  doing  his  best 
to  correct  the  earlier  impression — that 
possibly  he  did  not  appreciate  the 
fisherman's  judgment  in  selecting 
these  pictures*  And  with  the  instinct 
of  the  gentleman  that  he  was,  the 
fisherman  was  generously  responding* 
But  this  last  remark,  though  made 

53 


CALEB   MATTHEWS 

with  the  best  of  intention,  caused  a 
slight  jar,  and  forced  the  fisherman  to 
again  defend  his  purchase  of  these 
pictures;  so  he  replied  with  adequate 
firmness:  "Nope,  wa'n't  thinkin'  'bout 
scenery*  It's  the  men  and  women 
folk  I  like  in  'em  picters*"  "Oh, 
that's  it,"  replied  the  friend*  "  Some 
years  ago,  Caleb,  I  saw  these  paint 
ings — that  is,  the  originals,  as  they 
are  called — which  the  artist  himself 
painted.  As  I  remember  them,  while 
I  was  impressed  by  the  men  and  women 
just  as  you  are,  yet  I  was  attracted  by 
the  general  landscape  view  in  each* 
Evidently  they  have  impressed  you 
differently*  I  am  interested  to  know 
what  there  is  about  these  men  and 
women  that  appeals  to  you*"  "Mebbe 
you  can  say  what  you  think,"  he 
answered*  "I  ruther  believe  you  can, 
for  you  know  how  to  talk." 

54 


THE   PICTURES 


The  bearing  of  this  remark  upon  the 
question  was  not  apparent*  It  seemed 
like  a  digression.  Further,  it  was  sub 
ject  to  more  than  one  interpretation, 
though  the  earnestness  with  which  it 
was  spoken  indicated  that  it  was 
meant  in  a  complimentary  sense. 

But  the  friend  met  the  remark  fairly, 
and  replied:  "Not  by  any  means, 
Caleb*  I  often  fail  in  expressing  my 
thoughts,  and  sometimes  wish  I  had 
remained  silent." 

Then  the  meaning  of  the  remark 
became  evident  as  the  fisherman  con 
tinued  :  "  Dunno  'bout  that ;  but  when 
I  saw  'em  picters  the  men  and  women 
said  what  Yd  bin  thinkin*  'long  time 
and  waVt  able  to  say*  They  sort  o* 
spoke  out  in  meetinV 

These  last  words  furnished  the  clue 
for  which  the  friend  had  been  search 
ing.  Now  he  knew  why  Caleb  bought 

55 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

these  pictures  and  hung  them  on  the 
wall  of  the  kitchen*  They  expressed 
for  him  some  of  the  inner  convictions 
of  his  own  life — "they  sort  of  spoke 
out  in  meetinY'  On  the  surface  these 
words  seemed  contradictory*  The 
one  speaking  them  had  admitted  that 
he  knew  nothing  about  farming,  yet 
pictures  of  farming,  or,  to  be  more 
exact,  farmers  at  work*  revealed  his 
thought*  Doubtless,  he  felt  this  seem 
ing  contradiction,  or  perhaps  he  de 
tected  the  sense  of  contradiction  in  the 
face  of  his  friend;  at  any  rate,  he 
continued:  "Farmin'  an'  fishin'  'bout 
the  same*  I  make  fast  to  natur'  same 
as  Pickford  up  the  North  Road*  His 
natur'  's  dry,  mine's  wet.  I  figger 
like  this:  He  sticks  a  plow  in;  I  a 
boat*  He  drops  seed  down  same  's 
man  in  picter;  I  let  go  lobster  pots* 
He  fusses  'round  keepin'  weeds  out; 

56 


THE    PICTURES 


I  fuss  'round  keepin'  my  pots  baited. 
He  gets  crop  o'  corn;  I  get  crop  o' 
lobsters*  There  ain't  no  real  dif  'ence»" 

This  bit  of  fresh  reasoning  by  com 
parison  gave  the  real  reason  for  the 
existence  of  these  pictures  on  the  wall 
of  the  room*  He  had  bought  them 
because  he  understood  them*  The 
truths  conveyed  by  the  pictures  he 
knew  about  in  his  own  experience; 
the  forms  of  expression  of  the  truths 
were  those  he  was  unaccustomed  to* 
Here  in  simple  form*  within  the  walls 
of  a  fisherman's  room,  was  a  perfect 
illustration  of  Goethe's  dictum :  "  Man 
kind  is  ever  changing;  man  is  ever 
the  same*'*  The  fisherman  was  one 
with  the  farmer* 

Further,  from  what  had  been  said  it 
was  evident  that  this  lobster  fisher 
man  was  an  art  critic  in  the  best  sense 
of  the  word*  Caleb  would  have  looked 

57 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

surprised  had  anyone  called  him  an 
art  critic*  It  is  probable  that  he  would 
have  looked  confused  and  asked  what 
the  words  meant.  He  was  a  stranger 
to  art  galleries ;  the  names  "Dresden," 
"Louvre/*  and  "Madrid"  were  un 
known  to  him ;  originals  of  the  masters 
he  had  never  seen;  such  terms  as 
perspective,  technique,  and  shading — 
to  say  nothing  of  the  geometric  lines 
of  the  Cubists — had  for  him  no  mean 
ing*  Yet  he  had  three  fifty-cent  photo 
graphs  of  great  paintings  hung  upon 
the  walls  of  his  room*  And  what  is  of 
prime  importance,  he  had  these  photo 
graphs  because  they  said  something 
to  him,  or,  better  still,  something  for 
him* 

The  essence  of  true  criticism  is  to 
receive  an  impression  of  the  thing 
criticized  and  then  honestly  and  intelli 
gently  state  the  substance  of  the  im- 

58 


THE   PICTURES 


pression*  This  fisherman  had  cer 
tainly  received  an  impression  from 
these  photographs,  and  he  had  said 
enough  to  indicate  that  the  impres 
sions  had  taken  intelligent  shape  in 
his  mind*  Raskin  could  do  no  more* 

The  situation  at  last  having  become 
clear  to  the  friend,  he  decided  to  make 
the  most  of  it,  and  so  walked  over  to 
the  pictures*  Caleb,  who  was  sitting 
in  an  old-fashioned  rocker  by  the 
window*  with  a  twitch  of  the  muscles 
of  his  face,  worked  his  lame  leg  down 
from  a  kitchen  chair  and  also  came 
over,  With  the  remark  about  these 
pictures  that  they  "sort  of  spoke  out 
in  meetin'"  still  in  mind,  the  other 
looked  at  the  picture  of  "The  Sowers," 

In  the  judgment  of  many,  this  is 
Millers  finest  piece  of  work,  although 
it  is  not  as  well  known  as  some  of 
the  others*  The  reddish-brown  soil 

59 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

reaches  well  up  on  the  canvast  and 
almost  crowds  out  the  sky*  Against 
the  background  of  the  soil  is  the  body 
of  a  peasant,  the  head  and  shoulders 
standing  out  more  clearly  against  the 
light  in  the  sky.  It  is  one  of  the  few 
paintings  of  this  great  artist  that  are 
not  dependent  for  their  effect  upon  the 
coloring,  for  the  meaning  of  the  picture 
is  in  the  lines  of  the  body  of  the  peas 
ant.  The  artist  has  done  that  most 
difficult  thing,  namely,  paint  the  double 
action  of  the  body — one  arm  thrown 
backward  and  one  leg  thrown  forward. 
The  picture  as  few  in  art  reveals  the 
strength,  intensity,  and  freedom  of 
work. 

At  this  picture  the  friend  pointed 
and  with  the  thought  of  drawing  the 
other  out,  remarked:  "That  farmer 
has  a  big  job  on  his  hands  to  sow  that 

field  with  seed*    I  wonder  if  it  wouldn't 
60 


THE   PICTURES 


be  better  for  him  if  he  had  less  work 
to  do?" 

"Mebbe,"  replied  Caleb,  "work 
ain't  easy*  'Tain't  no  use  sayin'  'tis. 
Some  folks  talk  that  way — but  they've 
got  fog  in  their  brains*  Jest  give  'em 
'bout  twenty-five  lobster  pots  to  bait 
an'  haul  every  day*  Let  'em  do  this 
for  a  livin'  an'  I  cal'ate  there  won't  be 
much  o'  that  kind  o'  talk*" 

"But  he  doesn't  look  very  tired. 
There's  a  fine  swing  to  his  bodyt  and 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  could  keep 
up  for  some  time/'  said  the  friend* 

"Dunno'  'bout  that/'  was  the  an 
swer*  "  Can't  tell  by  that  picter  what 
the  time  o'  day*  Ruther  think  it's 
putty  soon  after  breakfast*  Perhaps 
I'm  ruther  worthless,  but  I  get  putty 
tired  o'  work*  I  come  ashore  so  gone 
there's  'bout  much  life  lef '  in  me  's  'n 
cod  'n  hour  out  o'  water*  Ruther  glad 

61 


CALEB  MATTHEWS 

for  a  sou'east  fog  or  a  spell  blowy 
weather.  Seems  kind  o'  comf  'table  to 
hang  round/' 

Then  a  puzzled  look  came  into  his 
face,  as  he  realized  that  what  he  said 
seemed  to  contradict  the  thought 
expressed  in  the  picture.  After  a 
moment's  pause,  during  which  the 
friend  pointed  out  the  technical  skill 
of  the  artist  in  painting  the  double 
action  of  the  body,  he  continued: 
"Work  ain't  easy,  an'  'tain't  easy  to 
hev'  no  work.  It's  all  right  to  be  shet 
in  day  or  mebbe  two,  but  let  fo'-five 
foggy  or  blowy  days  come,  an*  it's 
draggin'  kind  o'  livin',  'Bout  the  third 
day  the  horn  on  the  Rubholds  gets 
exactin'  an'  a  man  begins  to  feel  's 
mean  's  a  dog  fish,  Work  ain't  easy, 
but  I'd  ruther  work  pullin'  pots  than 
hev  no  pots  to  pull," 

"Well,  Caleb,"  said  the  other,  "it 
62 


THE    PICTURES 


seems  to  me  your  idea  of  work  is  like 
the  farmer  in  the  picture,  who  appears 
to  be  going  in  opposite  directions  at  the 
same  time*  Don't  you  see  that  with 
the  arm  he  is  swinging  back  and  with 
the  foot  he  is  moving  forward?  So 
with  your  idea  of  work*  You  say 
work  is  hardt  and  then  you  say  no 
work  is  harder  work*" 

The  fisherman  was  disturbed  by  this 
comment,  for  he  thought  himself  guilty 
of  a  contradiction*  In  fact,  he  was 
simply  stating  a  familiar  paradox,  but 
stating  it  in  his  own  quaint  way*  He 
did  not  know  that  the  difference 
between  a  contradiction  and  a  paradox 
is  that  a  contradiction  consists  of  two 
opposite  statements  that  will  not 
blend  into  a  third,  whereas,  a  paradox 
is  a  meeting  of  two  statements,  which, 
coming  from  opposite  directions,  blend 
into  a  third  statement  of  fact*  One 

63 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

fact  that  he  got  hold  of  was  work.  The 
other  and  opposite  fact  was  the  absence 
of  work*  By  bringing  them  together 
he  had  found  the  paradox;  that  work, 
which  is  hardt  is  easier  than  absence 
of  work,  which  is  easy* 

"As  I  figger  it,"  he  continued, 
"there's  suthin'  in  as  shows  we're 
made  for  work.  That's  what  the 
painter  's  showin'  there*  Anf  when  he 
wants  to  show  this  he  don't  paint  a 
man  livin*  by  his  wits,  or  sittin'  at  a 
desk,  or  crawlin'  into  an  iron  cage  at 
a  bank,  as  I  saw  over  'n  Portland.  I 
ain't  got  nuthin'  'gainst  such  people* 
But  when  you  want  to  make  a  picter 
of  work,  you  want  a  man  up  'gainst 
natur'*" 

These  words  were  not  spoken  with 
a  personal  application,  although  the 
friend  was  neither  a  fisherman  nor 
a  farmer.  He  knew,  however,  that 

64 


THE    PICTURES 


inasmuch  as  he  was  supposed  to 
use  his  brains  more  than  his  muscles, 
in  the  judgment  of  Caleb  he  could 
not  possibly  be  a  real  workman. 
But  he  held  his  peace,  and  the  fisher 
man  continued:  "The  painter  there 
wants  to  show  that  the  Almighty 
made  us  for  workt  an*  so  he  put  us  in 
a  workin'  world*  Same  off  shore* 
When  I  get  out  there,  and  bob  up  an' 
down  pullint  my  pots,  an'  hev  time  to 
think  'bout  it,  I  feel  I'm  up  'gainst  the 
Almighty's  workin'  world*  An'  that's 
why  I  wanted  that  picter*" 

This  seemed  a  reasonably  clear 
philosophy  of  work.  While  more  col 
loquial,  somewhat  briefer,  and  perhaps 
less  grammatical  than  the  treatises  on 
the  subject  in  books,  yet  Caleb  had 
the  gist  of  the  matter* 

The  two  then  moved  along  a  little 
and  looked  at  the  picture  entitled 

65 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

"The  Gleaners/'  This  portrays  a  har 
vest  scene*  In  the  distance  are  the 
huge  stacks  of  grain,  a  loaded  cart, 
and  the  overseer  or  owner  on  horse 
back.  In  the  foreground,  and  occupy 
ing  most  of  the  canvas,  are  three 
women  bending  over  and  in  the  stubble 
gathering  the  remaining  fragments  of 
grain* 

The  friend,  looking  upon  the  scene 
thus  portrayed,  remarked,  "I  suppose 
the  artist  painted  these  three  women 
gathering  the  stray  bits  of  grain  to 
show  that  nothing  should  ever  be 
wasted/' 

This  remark  evidently  troubled 
Caleb,  for  a  tone  of  surprise  mingled 
with  disappointment  came  into  his 
voice*  His  friend  was  a  minister,  and 
he  always  addressed  him  as  "Elder/' 
So,  turning  from  the  picture  and  look 
ing  at  him,  he  said:  "Elder,  you  don't 

66 


THE    PICTURES 


understand  that  picter*  I  rec'lect  ser 
mon  you  preached  in  the  schoolhouse 
Sunday  mornin*  'bout  year  ago*  It 
was  from  the  Bible  words,  'What 
soever  a  man  sowetht  that  shall  he  also 
reap/  I'd  thought  'bout  'em  words 
myself,  an'  when  you  spoke  'em  for 
your  textt  I  was  right  glad  at  bein' 
there*  What  you  said  most  the  way 
was  real  good,  but*  comin'  to  the  end, 
you  said  suthin'  that  kind  o'  spoiled 
it*" 

It  was  now  time  for  the  friend  to  be 
a  little  disturbed*  He  found  himself 
in  this  conversation,  as  often  in  the 
past,  maneuvered  into  the  defensive 
position*  Further,  he  had  a  genuine 
respect  for  any  comment  Caleb  might 
make  upon  religious  truth,  for  he  knew 
him  as  an  earnest,  thoughtful  Chris 
tian*  So  he  inquired  at  once,  what  it 
was  he  said  that  spoiled  the  sermon 

67 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

which  he  had  preached  in  the  school- 
house* 

"You  said,"  he  replied,  "  that  a  man 
al'ays  got  out  o*  life  jest  'bout  what  he 
put  into  it — or  suthin*  like  that*  Am  I 
repeatin*  you  right  ?  " 

"Yes/'  admitted  the  friend,  "you 
have  quoted  my  thought  correctly*" 

In  fact,  the  thought  as  repeated 
with  substantial  accuracy  was  a  fa 
vorite  one  with  him*  More  than  one 
college  commencement  address  had 
been  built  around  it*  In  the  pulpit  of 
his  city  church  he  had  often  expressed 
it  with  a  sense  of  satisfaction,  as 
though  for  the  moment  he  was  strik 
ing  twelve. 

"Well,"  said  Caleb,  with  a  slight 
intimation  of  challenge  in  his  voice, 
"'tain't  so*" 

"But,"  said  the  friend,  "doesn't  a 
man  have  to  work  for  what  he  receives  ? 

68 


THE    PICTURES 


And  doesn't  a  man  succeed  according 
to  the  kind  of  work  he  does  ?  " 

"I  wa'n't  sayin'  nuthin'  'gainst 
work,"  was  the  reply.  "Putty  slim 
board  for  a  man  that  won't  work. 
And  like  'nough  a  man's  got  to  use 
jedgment  when  he  works.  Reckon  if 
I  put  oars  in  water  'stead  lobster 
potst  won't  get  lobsters.  If  I  go  off 
Battegat  fishin'  for  cod,  an'  put  a  stone 
on  my  line  'stead  of  bait,  there  won't 
be  no  fish." 

The  thought  in  the  back  of  Caleb's 
mind  began  to  dawn  upon  his  friend, 
but  not  being  ready  to  yield,  he  re 
marked  : 

"If  a  man  must  work,  and  the  way 
he  works  decides  what  he  receives, 
then  there  was  some  force  to  the 
statement  in  the  closing  part  of  my 
sermon  last  summer." 

"Yes,"  was  the  rejoinder,  "but  that 

69 


CALEB   MATTHEWS 

ain't  all*  There's  considerbul  more 
'an  a  man  in  the  work*  Look  at  that 
farm  in  the  picter*  See  the  big  heaps 
o'  grain ;  look  at  the  carts  loaded ;  see 
the  farmer  sittin'  on  his  horse*  Did 
he  and  his  men  do  all  this  ?  Did  he 
put  the  ground  there,  an'  send  the 
rain,  an*  make  the  wind  blow,  an' 
the  sun  shine?  I  reckon  not*  The 
farmer  sittin'  on  his  horse  there 
knows  this*  He's  feelin'  kind  o' 
good,  an*  so  he's  lettin'  the  women 
folks  have  a  chance," 

The  friend  recalled  the  original  of 
"The  Gleaners"— and  how  Millet  had 
succeeded  in  placing  upon  the  canvas 
the  soft  mellow  light  of  an  autumn 
day*  As  he  listened  to  Caleb,  he  de 
tected  in  his  voice  the  same  quality 
which  the  artist  through  color  had 
given  to  the  picture. 

"I  feel  the  same  way,"  he  continued, 

70 


THE    PICTURES 


"as  that  man  sitting  on  his  horse*  Do 
you  see  the  water  off  shore? "  as  he 
pointed  otrt  of  the  window*  "I  didn't 
put  it  there*  Down  in  that  water 
there  be  lobsters,  not  's  many  as  I'd 
like,  but  I  didn't  put  'em  there*  Out 
there  sometimes  I  feel  kind  o'  small 
when  I  think  how  much  I'd  nuthin'  to 
do  with*  When  I've  a  run  o'  luck  I 
come  'shore  feelin'  putty  good  to  every 
body  an'  everything*" 

It  was  time  for  the  friend  to  recog 
nize  the  truth  which  he  was  trying 
to  express*  In  fact,  the  appeal  was 
irresistible,  for  in  the  fisherman's 
voice  was  a  quality  as  delicious  as  the 
sunlight  softened  in  the  purple  haze 
of  an  October  day*  So  he  said:  "You 
are  right,  Caleb*  There  is  nothing  in 
that  picture  about  waste;  it  is  all 
about  charity*  And  if  I  preach  in  the 
schoolhouse  some  Sunday  next  sum- 

7J 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

mer,  I  will  take  as  my  text  the  words, 
'Freely  ye  have  received,  freely  give/ ' 

There  was  still  the  third  photograph 
on  the  wall,  that  of  "The  Angelas." 
This,  of  course,  is  the  most  famous  of 
the  three,  perhaps  an  illustration  of 
another  Frenchman's  saying,  "That 
man  is  incurably  religious/*  for  the 
dominant  impression  is  spiritual*  In 
the  picture  is  more  distance  than  in 
the  others:  a  field,  with  a  wheel 
barrow,  a  three-pronged  fork,  basket 
partly  filled;  and  over  all  the  glory  of 
the  sunset,  as  two  humble  peasants, 
in  their  wooden  shoes,  bow  in  the 
attitude  of  prayer,  while  the  bell  rings 
in  the  far-away  steeple  of  the  church* 

Looking  at  the  picture  for  a  moment, 
and  wondering  what  was  in  Caleb's 
mind,  the  friend  spoke  and  said:  "It 
seems  strange  that  the  artist  should 
have  painted  a  field,  with  the  farmer 

72 


THE    PICTURES 


and  his  wife  in  their  working  clothes, 
and  pausing  in  the  midst  of  work*  If 
he  wanted  to  express  the  thought  of 
worship,  he  should  have  painted  them 
in  their  Sunday  clothes,  walking  along 
the  quiet  roadway,  with  the  white 
church  building  on  the  village  green  in 
the  near  distance." 

"Mebbe,"  replied  Caleb;  "hadn't 
thought  'bout  that*  "We've  got  no 
church  buildin*  here*  Nuthin*  but 
schoolhouse,  with  picters  of  George 
Washington  and  Abe  Lincoln  on  the 
wall,  an'  little  seats,  well  'nough  for 
children,  but  ruther  uncomPtable  for 
grown  ups*ft  Then,  realizing  that  he 
was  approaching  the  region  of  fault 
finding,  which  for  him  was  a  forbidden 
land,  he  continued:  "I  get  lot  o'  com 
fort  goin*  over  there  to  church*" 

The  friend  noticed  that  although  the 

fisherman  said  that  they  had  no  church 
73 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

building,  only  a  schoolhouse,  yet  he 
also  spoke  of  going  to  church*  And 
this  was  true*  The  schoolhouse  was 
not  a  church  building,  but  within  the 
schoolhouse  a  real  church  existed* 
Each  Sunday  morning  in  the  summer 
the  bell  rang  and  the  people  gathered* 
Most  of  the  customary  appointments 
of  a  church  building  were  lacking* 
The  teacher's  desk  served  for  a  pul 
pit;  the  little  fixed  seats,  into  which 
adults  worked  themselves  after  half 
doubling  up  like  jackknives,  took  the 
place  of  pews;  a  reed  organ,  rather 
creaky,  was  scarcely  an  adequate  sub 
stitute  for  a  three  or  four-manual 
pipe  organ;  figures  of  saints,  apostles, 
and  martyrs,  seen  in  the  soft  coloring 
of  windows,  were  absent,  and  in  their 
stead  only  ordinary  sash  windows, 
with  plenty  of  sunlight  and  air;  yet  it 
was  a  church  of  the  living  God* 

74 


THE    PICTURES 


So  the  friend  remarked:  "Caleb,  I 
am  glad  that  the  schoolhouse  is  a 
church  for  you.  In  New  York,  where 
I  live,  there  are  many  very  costly 
church  buildings,  with  lots  of  things 
that  money  can  buy*  But  the  real 
thing  in  divine  worship,  which  cannot 
be  bought  with  money,  is  found  in  the 
gatherings  in  the  schoolhouse,  as  well 
as  in  the  famous  city  churches.  Often 
during  the  year  I  find  myself  in  the 
city  thinking  of  the  service  here  and 
forgetting  about  the  blackboards, 
teacher's  desk,  and  little  seats.  I  feel 
that  it  is  a  great  privilege  for  us  all  to 
come  together  once  a  week  for  wor 
ship." 

This  pleased  the  honest  fisherman, 
and  the  soul  within  him  seemed  to 
shine  out  in  his  weather-beaten  face* 
Then,  taking  up  the  thought  where  the 
other  had  left  it,  he  said:  "Things 

75 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

seem  better  'round  here  when  there's 
preachin'  every  Sunday*  Gets  lone 
some  when  the  summer  's  gone  an' 
the  Methodist  elder  comes  down  only 
once  a  month  from  North  Westport. 
But,"  he  added,  "you  can  worship 
God  in  other  places  than  the  school- 
house,  jest's  'em  in  the  picter*" 

It  was  evident  that  the  fact  in  the 
picture  which  impressed  him  was  that 
the  man  and  woman  who  were  in  the 
attitude  of  worship  were  not  in  church 
but  in  the  midst  of  their  work*  He 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  the  friend 
remained  silent,  knowing  that  with  the 
analogy  of  nature  as  wet  and  dry  he 
was  thinking  of  himself  and  his  own 
work*  Then,  looking  at  the  picture, 
yet  seeing  more  than  the  picture,  he 
said  in  a  voice  subdued,  and  modest : 
"I've  bin  out  off  the  south  shore  in 

the  early  mornin'  at  work  puflin'  my 
76 


THE   PICTURES 


pots*  Tore  I've  known  what  I  was 
doin'  hev  stopped  work  an'  watched 
the  stm  come  tip  over  Fishers  Island. 
Mebbe  it  was  sort  o'  shiftless  to  stop 
workin',  but  suthin'  gets  hold  o*  a  man 
when  he  sees  'em  colors  in  the  sky 
an'  on  the  water*" 

"No,  Caleb,"  replied  the  friend, 
"I  don't  think  it  was  shiftless  in  you 
to  stop  work  in  the  presence  of  the 
sunrise*  The  artist  doesn't  think  so 
either,  for  he  has  the  farmer  and  his 
wife  stop  digging  potatoes  for  a  time* 
I  think  when  you  do  that  in  the  early 
morning  you  are  simply  holding  church 
for  a  moment  in  your  dory*  You  know 
the  first  conception  that  man  had  of 
a  temple  or  a  church,  was  not  some 
thing  made  of  wood  and  stone,  but 
nature  itself*  The  sky  was  the  roof, 
the  encircling  horizon  the  walls,  the 

sounds  of  the  wind  and  waves  the 
77 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

music,  and  the  colors  on  sea  and  land 
the  decorations.  So  man  said,  as  in 
the  Bible,  'And  in  his  temple  every 
thing  saith,  Glory/ ' 

Caleb  knew  the  meaning  of  this 
truth  better  than  his  friend,  who  lived 
most  of  the  year  in  the  cramped  and 
crowded  city,  so  he  added,  as  if  by 
way  of  emphasis:  "More  'n  once,  I've 
bin  otrt  on  Sheeps  Bay,  an*  seen  the 
sun  drop  down  behind  the  pine  tops 
on  Greytown*  Hain't  got  words  to 
tell  it,  but  the  sky  looked  like  I  think 
heaven's  like/' 

"Well,  Caleb,  you  needn't  feel 
worried  because  you  have  not  the 
words  to  express  all  that  you  expe 
rience*  There  are  some  experiences  in 
life  that  lie  beyond  exact  expression* 
You  can  measure  the  distance  across 
Sheeps  Bay  and  the  height  of  the  pine 
trees  on  Greytown,  but  you  can- 

78 


THE   PICTURES 


not  measure  exactly  the  sheen  on  the 
water  and  the  glow  above  the  trees 
in  the  sunset  hour*  Feeling  in  life  is 
often  deeper  than  thinking." 

He  didn't  seem  to  hear  this,  for  the 
speech  had  passed  from  the  region  of 
conversation,  with  its  interchange  of 
thought,  to  that  bordering  on  soliloquy. 
After  a  pause  he  said  in  a  voice  not 
only  subdued  but  gentle:  "Up  the 
North  Road,  if  you'll  stop  'gainst  the 
fence  by  the  graveyard,  you'll  see  in 
the  corner  near  you  this  way  a  stone 
marked,  '  Nellie  Matthews*'  That's 
my  little  girl  that  died  twenty  years 
ago  this  comin'  December.  It  was  a 
wild,  blowy  night,  an'  it's  strange,  but 
when  I  see  some  o'  'em  sunsets  over 
Greytown,  they  make  me  think  o' 
my  little  girl,  an'  then  I  want  to  row 
hard." 

There  was  no  suggestion  of  weak- 

79 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

ness  as  he  said  this*  His  voice  had 
that  peculiar  blend  rarely  found,  of 
being  at  once  gentle  and  manly*  But 
having  said  this,  a  change  came  in  his 
voice  as  he  continued:  "'Bout  that 
bell  in  the  steeple;  the  man  I  bought 
the  picter  of  says  it's  called  'Angelus,' 
and  means  *  angels*'  Well,  there  ain't 
no  steeple  'round  here*  But  I've  bin 
off  Toms  Island  when  there  wa'n't  no 
wind,  an'  the  water  was  smooth  with 
clouds  pictered  in  it*  An*  then  the 
bell  in  the  buoy  seemed  to  make  a 
music  dif'rent  from  earthly  sounds. 
Mebbe  it  was  me  that  thought  it— I 
dunno— but  that's  how  I  felt,  anyhow* 
Yes,  Elder,  if  a  man's  heart's  right, 
he'll  find  God,  An*  when  I  saw  that 
picter  over  in  Portland  I  jest  thought 
o*  my  feelin's  on  the  water*" 

As  he  ceased  speaking  there  was  a 
silence  broken  only  by  the  ticking  of 

80 


THE    PICTURES 


the  wooden-framed  clock  behind  the 
stove*  Then  the  friend  thought  of  a 
verse  of  poetry  written  when  Millet's 
"The  Angelas"  was  in  this  country, 
and  repeated: 

"Not  of  this  earth 
Had  ye  your  birth; 

Others  are  ye 
Of  nobler  worth* 

Spirits,  not  clay; 
Not  beasts  of  burden, 

Souls  that  pray*" 

The  two  returned  to  their  chairs  by 
the  windows*  The  friend  was  about 
to  say  a  word  before  going,  when 
Caleb,  pointing  at  the  book  on  the 
mantel,  said:  "Elder,  will  you  read 
a  verse  or  two?" 

Reaching  up  to  the  shelf,  the  friend 
got  the  Bible,  and,  returning  to  his 
seat,  opened  it  at  random,  and  thought 
for  a  moment  as  to  an  appropriate 
selection*  As  he  sat  there  with  the 

81 


CALEB    MATTHEWS 

Bible  open  before  him,  his  eye  wan 
dered  to  the  wall,  and  resting  upon 
the  picture  of  "The  Sowers/*  he  re 
peated  the  words  of  Christ:  "I  must 
work  the  works  of  him  that  sent  me, 
while  it  is  day:  the  night  cometh, 
when  no  man  can  work*"  He  then 
glanced  at  "The  Gleaners/*  and  with 
Caleb's  interpretation  in  mind  he 
found  himself  repeating  that  beautiful 
chapter  of  the  apostle,  beginning  with 
the  words:  "Though  I  speak  with  the 
tongues  of  men  and  of  angels,  and 
have  not  charity/'  As  he  looked  at 
"The  Angelus,"  the  words  of  the 
Psalmist  came  into  his  mind: 

"If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  morning, 
And  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of 

the  sea; 

Even  there  shall  thy  hand  lead  me, 
And  thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me*" 

Then  he  knelt  in  prayer,  and  with  a 

82 


THE   PICTURES 


deep  sense  of  gratitude,  thanked  the 
heavenly  Father  for  friendship;  asked 
him  to  keep  them  both  steady  in  the 
work  he  has  for  them  to  do;  to  fill 
their  hearts  with  charity  as  they 
meditate  upon  what  he  does  for  them 
rather  than  upon  what  little  they  can 
do  for  themselves;  and  to  give  them 
richly  of  his  Spirit,  that,  whether  upon 
sea  or  land,  they  might  be  confident 
of  his  presence* 

As  he  closed,  Caleb  joined  in  the 
Lord's  Prayer*  The  friend  will  never 
forget  the  voice  of  the  simple-hearted 
fisherman — a  voice  that  had  in  it  the 
music  of  the  sea;  not  the  strong, 
tumultuous  music  of  the  storm,  but 
the  soft,  gentle  music,  when  the 
"winds  are  up  gathered  like  sleeping 
flowers,"  and  the  waves  slip  up  and 
slide  down  on  the  rocks* 


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